


I Myself Am Hell

by solitary_thrush



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bittersweet, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, M/M, Poor naive Will, Rough Sex, Slash, Some fluff but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 17:26:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitary_thrush/pseuds/solitary_thrush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This long, slow psychotic break thing is scaring the hell out Will. The separation of self from reality terrifies him. Maybe Hannibal, the last source of stability he has, can help him remember who he is. </p><p>A post-ep for 1.10 ("Buffet Froid") and companion piece to "Country Feedback."</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Myself Am Hell

**Author's Note:**

> _A car radio bleats,_   
>  _“Love, O careless Love….” I hear_   
>  _my ill-spirit sob in each blood cell,_   
>  _as if my hand were at its throat…._   
>  _I myself am hell;_   
>  _nobody’s here—_
> 
>  
> 
> \- Robert Lowell, “Skunk Hour”
> 
>   _I want to be someone else or I’ll explode_
> 
> \- Radiohead, “Talk Show Host”

The day after Georgia Madchen realizes she’s alive, desperation drives Will from Wolf Trap to Baltimore at 2 a.m. He needs to know where he is and when he is and who he is. Hannibal’s time and place orientation activity, seemingly ridiculous at first, helped him help Georgia. Maybe Hannibal has something else that will help him. Because this long, slow psychotic break thing is scaring the hell out him. The psychosis – the separation of self from reality – is utterly terrifying.

Nothing is certain.

He can’t sleep. He doesn’t want to eat. He no longer knows when his awareness of time and himself will slip from his grasp and he’ll wake up – or come to or whatever the hell happens when he’s suddenly back in time with everyone else – and it won’t be a crime scene he’s contaminating. It’ll be one he’s created.

Here he is after all these years, finally falling apart. He knew it would happen eventually. For the longest time, it’s felt like his fate. Who was he to think he could empathize fully with the criminally insane again and again and again without some of the crazy rubbing off – or interacting badly with his own kind of crazy? And so, unsurprisingly, he’s left hanging by his fingernails from a cliff face, buffeted by winds and storms; he can’t see how far he’ll fall or what he’ll hit when he lands. If he lands.

The only thing left to do now is to try to stay connected to reality. But he isn’t sure he wants that. His reality isn’t connected to much that’s good other than the dogs and Hannibal. And trying to stay in touch is like grasping at so much smoke in the air. It’s exhausting.

When it does happen, this psychotic break he’s working on, oh, it’s going to be – brutal…good? No, not good, of course, but well-executed. Professional. Psychotic murders _are_ his profession, after all. He knows so many ways to kill. Years of holding cuts of meat and fish and thinking about how they correlate to human flesh have honed his sense of how much pressure he’d need to exert to do _everything_.

There are so many ways he knows, too, not to get caught. Except that he will get caught. He’ll wake up in a panic and leave prints and fibers. Or, if he does it right, and he wakes up as himself, as Will Graham, then he would have little choice but to turn himself in or end it.

He shudders when he thinks of turning himself in. Of psychiatric hospitals, those prisons, and their Dr. Chiltons. He struggles to keep panic out every time he visits Abigail, overwhelmed by the sense that he will end up where she is.

No, he’s sure he won’t turn himself in.

But he isn’t ready to end it, either. He’s a lot of things, but he isn’t suicidal. Not yet.

For now, he’ll keep working. He needs Jack to let him keep working so he can feel clean and good. It’s easier not to think about his own problems when he’s working cases. It’s easier to tear into himself to save someone else. He needs the modicum of stability it provides. But Jack won’t let him work indefinitely, not when he’s officially concerned.

And so Will needs something else to cling to as the turbulent seas of unreality and hallucination and madness try to strip him of his last tether to time and himself.

Hannibal is the only stability he has left. And Hannibal is so good at what he does. He might be able to help where everyone else has failed. And anyway, Will doesn’t trust anyone else now. It’s almost as though there is no one else.

Will recognizes that as an obsessive thought. Yet it feels more and more true. Hannibal is the only one who doesn’t tell him to be stable, who doesn’t look at him like he’s inches from snapping, even if he is.

Images of himself as Tobias Budge overwhelm him and for a moment, he _is_ Tobias Budge and he’s slicing Hannibal’s throat open to get the right sound out of him. The blood spraying from Hannibal’s neck becomes Abigail’s blood and it’s Abigail he’s holding and he sees himself approaching and firing the gun and he _likes_ it so much. It’s the most exhilarating thing he’s done. If he weren’t Will Graham, he could do it again and again and again –

– and suddenly he breathes in and he’s on Hannibal’s doorstep, trembling with fear.

He’s on Hannibal’s doorstep. He knows because he recognizes it; it was his destination. He checks his watch. He’s on Hannibal’s doorstep and it’s 2:37 a.m. and he’s Will Graham. He says the words in a faint, gravely voice.

Hannibal has helped him already, teaching him this little trick. It’s becoming his automatic response to waking up scared and panicked in a different reality. It’s stability.

Fuck. Hannibal can help him. Could help him – because he’s not going to stay because he shouldn’t be here. He’s putting Hannibal in danger.

Just as he turns to leave the door opens – did he ring the bell? – and Hannibal is standing there in his robe, his hair tousled, traces of sleep fading from his face – and oh God, he’s everything Will needs right now. Will’s knees feel weak. His heart skitters in his chest and blood pools in his groin. He shouldn’t do this.

“Will,” Hannibal says, his voice deeper than usual. He clears his throat. “Come in.”

He shouldn’t do this but oh God Hannibal makes him feel welcome and oh fuck he’s going to do this whether he should or not.

He follows Hannibal inside, desirous but still a little disoriented. Then suddenly he feels like a lost dog who’s made his way home as he follows Hannibal into the kitchen. Here he’ll be fed and cared for without having to ask for anything. He’ll get enough of his stability back to last a little longer, to temporarily thwart the inevitable.

Hannibal offers him sparkling water and he nods without thinking. Instead, he watches the walls, expecting them to melt into some unreality at any moment. He’ll become Budge. He’ll attack Hannibal without knowing what he’s doing. He’ll force Hannibal to defend himself. He’ll put on Hannibal the horror of killing again.

But the walls remain solid. Stable. Bedrock.

Hannibal hands him the water. He sips it to have something to do with his hands. Hannibal sips his own water, standing a few feet away, and asks without words why Will is here.

“You mentioned some alternative therapies?” Will says, his voice rusty. He glances from the wall to Hannibal and back. If Hannibal is fazed by this opening question at nearly 3 a.m., he doesn’t show it. Instead, he puts the water down and takes a step closer.

“What alternative therapies could I administer at this hour?” Hannibal asks.

It’s more of a suggestion than a question. Will looks up and finds Hannibal’s eyes and everything snaps into place. Hannibal knew he would come here at this hour. Hannibal expected him.  

Hannibal _wants_ him.

And suddenly he has all the confidence he needs.

“The last time I felt this unstable,” Will says, stepping closer until he’s in Hannibal’s personal space, “I did something desperate…” he leans in and looks from Hannibal’s eyes to his lips and back “…reckless.”

Hannibal’s eyes smolder. “Do you regret it?”

“No,” Will whispers as he closes the last inches to kiss Hannibal. Hannibal kisses him back and he knows who he is.

He’s Will Graham and he’s kissing Hannibal Lecter in Hannibal’s house. He’s going to do whatever Hannibal will let him do. Hannibal deepens the kiss and Will knows that he’s going to get what he wants. He feels tied to the reality of Hannibal’s lips and he’s getting hard already, his erection pushing against the cotton of his underwear.

Will leads, tentative at first, then hungry. He places one hand on Hannibal’s cheek and runs the other through his hair to grip the back of his head. He can be rougher with Hannibal than he’d be with Alana. Lightening shoots down his spine at that thought and he moans into Hannibal’s mouth – and Hannibal moans back, _fuck_.

He pushes Hannibal against the kitchen island and presses his hips and chest to Hannibal’s until he has the man pinned. He runs his hands under Hannibal’s robe and _fuck_ he’s not wearing anything at all. Will pushes the robe off of Hannibal’s shoulders. It pools at his hips against the island. Will feels the lean muscles of Hannibal’s upper body and knows Hannibal can give and take as hard and rough as Will needs him to.

He admires Hannibal’s chest for a moment, then leans in to kiss him again. Hannibal returns his intensity and ghosts his hands down Will’s back before bringing them deftly to the buttons of his shirt. Either it’s his surgeon’s hands or he’s done this before.

Will breaks away, panting, and finishes the job Hannibal started, letting his shirt fall to the floor. Hannibal watches him, also panting, his eyes full of passion and lust and need. His body is rigid and rosy where it wants to be touched. Will pulls his undershirt off and quickly drops his pants and underwear to free his aching cock.

He stares at Hannibal, still leaning back against the island, for a moment. Then he attacks. He kisses Hannibal more roughly than he’s ever kissed anyone, forcing his tongue into Hannibal’s mouth. He thumbs Hannibal’s nipples hard enough to hurt and Hannibal’s little noise of pleasure sticks in the back of his throat and makes Will moan lowly as Will sucks on his lower lip.

Will traces kisses down Hannibal’s jaw and neck as he catches his breath. He sucks the flesh over the jugular hard enough to bruise as Hannibal’s pulse pounds beneath his lips. He grinds his cock against Hannibal’s abdomen and has to close his eyes because it’s amazing. Hannibal grinds back, equally excited, equally hard and Will has to open his eyes again. He has to watch.  

When Hannibal slows, Will kisses him once and drops to his knees and takes Hannibal’s cock in his hand, admiring it. He looks up at Hannibal, who’s looking down at him with encouragement and not a little surprise, as though he hadn’t thought Will would be so aggressive.

Well. Will’s feeling very aggressive now. Very powerful.

He shifts his gaze back to Hannibal’s cock and takes it in his mouth. He sucks without technique or skill – just raw need. Hannibal tastes better than he thought a man could taste, salty and hot and alive.

He’s Will Graham and he’s sucking Hannibal Lecter’s cock and oh fuck it’s so good.

He wraps one hand around Hannibal’s cock so he can stroke and suck at the same time, and uses the other to fist his own neglected erection. Just a little. Just so he can release some of the tension and keep going. His body jerks as pre-come wets his hand. He tastes Hannibal’s pre-come, too. Salty and delicious.

But he didn’t come here to give a blow job. He came here to fuck or be fucked. He stands on rubbery legs and kisses Hannibal again – once, hard – before he sucks on Hannibal’s lower lip once more. Hannibal seems to like that. He searches Hannibal’s fiery eyes and what he sees makes him let go and take a step back.

Hannibal straightens up, staring at him like he’s never seen him before. Like Will is some magnificent new creature he’s found. The intensity of Hannibal’s gaze makes Will’s cock twitch. He swallows around ragged breaths.

And then Hannibal takes one step and another and another until he’s driven Will back against the butcher’s block. With one hand on Will’s head and the other snaked under his ass, Hannibal kisses him as he’s never been kissed before. It’s urgent but loving and a little slower than Will’s frenzied kisses. Hannibal is better at this, as Will knew he would be, having not just heat and want but also skill and practice.

He’s Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter is kissing him like he’s the finest, rarest treasure in all the world.

Hannibal grinds against him and squeezes his ass hard enough to bruise and Will doesn’t stifle the moans that escape him. He doesn’t want to belong to himself any more – and somehow, miraculously, Hannibal wants to claim him. When Hannibal fucks him, he’s going to be more than Will Graham. Better. Saner. Sexier. Fuckable and maybe even loved, in spite of everything that’s breaking in his head.

Hannibal marks Will in return, sucking at the tender skin above his pulse, and Will somehow manages to get even harder though his erection is trapped between his body and Hannibal’s. Shared semen slicks his stomach. Hannibal pins him harder against the block. He’s going to have a mark on his ass, too, from this heavy table. He will look at these marks later and know who he is just as he knows now: He’s Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter is going to fuck him until he can’t think of anything but flesh and pressure and slick, hot desire.

Then Hannibal drops to his knees and oh God his mouth is wet and hot and he knows exactly what he’s doing. Will tips his head back and closes his eyes and just feels. He hasn’t had his cock sucked in so long. He could come easily. He grips the block tightly and clamps down on his rising orgasm. Not yet.

Hannibal senses his distress and eases the vacuum force of his mouth. He licks and tongues and runs his teeth lightly over the frenulum of Will’s cock. Will bucks into Hannibal’s mouth before he can stop himself. Hannibal takes him in again, lavishing attention on his cock like it’s the finest thing he’s ever had in his mouth.

Will grabs a fistful of Hannibal’s hair and looks down and _oh fuck_ he has to fight not to come at the sight of Hannibal on his knees loving Will’s cock. He pulls Hannibal’s hair without meaning to. Hannibal looks up at him and understands how close he is. And then, maintaining eye contact, he runs his tongue up the length of Will to tease the head of his cock until Will shudders. Hannibal is testing him to see how much he can take. He can’t take much more.

Hannibal must see this because he stands and takes Will’s hand and without a word, leads Will to his bedroom. Will stumbles, panting, behind him. Hannibal’s bedroom reminds Will of his dining room: masculine and powerful with its dark, rich colors and straight lines. Seeing Hannibal naked and flushed and hard in this place where he sleeps – the pillow indented where his head rested less than an hour ago – sends a jolt through Will. Hannibal is a private man, yet here he is showing Will the most intimate side of himself.

Will sits on the bed and strokes himself as he watches Hannibal retrieve a condom and lubricant. Hannibal sits next to him so that their hips and thighs press close.

“Have you done this before?”

Will sees and hears ragged lust just underneath the politeness.

“Not with a man,” he says as he touches Hannibal’s thigh and slides his hand up until it’s tantalizingly close to Hannibal’s cock.

Then Hannibal does something that shouldn’t surprise him but does: he offers Will the condom and lube. Will stares at them, then finds Hannibal’s eyes again.

“You’re better at this than I am.”

Hannibal smiles. “I’ll go slowly. Let me know if you’re uncomfortable.”

Will nods and leans in again to kiss Hannibal. He’s a good kisser. Kissing is familiar territory. Safe. Stable.

Hannibal kisses him back, then encourages him to lie on the bed. Will slides a pillow under his hips as instructed and does his best to relax. Hannibal watches him with love or something like it as he teases Will’s ass. Then he slips his finger in. It feels big and invasive until it doesn’t – and suddenly it’s amazingly good. Much better than Will's own finger.

Then Hannibal’s finger moves and Will gasps and _that’s_ his prostate. He moans and closes his eyes as Hannibal rubs him gently. It feels so good, like a longer lasting, less intense version of an orgasm.

When Hannibal removes his finger, Will feels empty and bereft. A small, demanding noise escapes him. Hannibal smiles and kisses him and teases his opening again. Then two fingers and discomfort that melts into pleasure as Hannibal strokes his prostate again. His breath hitches and catches around a whirlwind of pleasure.

At length, after a third finger, Will sees Hannibal decide he’s ready. Still, he’s patient, asking Will’s permission and then kissing Will when he says yes.

This vulnerable moment should scare him or make him defensive, but he feels safe instead. This feels as much like love as anything Will’s ever felt. And when Hannibal slowly, carefully pushes into him, something cracks in the jumble of emotions underneath desire and lust and the urge to cry overwhelms him. It’s gone in a flash but he sees Hannibal see it. To his great relief, Hannibal doesn’t stop – just leans down to kiss him softly.

Will kisses back as though he isn’t wounded and broken and insane. He cants forward, seeking control, and gasps into Hannibal’s mouth at the bright stab of pain. Hannibal stays still and places light kisses on his neck until Will relaxes and pain turns to pleasure. Will moans softly. Then Hannibal moves his hips, drawing out and pushing back in, and Will bites his lip as the two sensations mix and he isn’t sure if it’s good but he doesn’t want it to stop. He forces himself to relax and pleasure soon wins out.

It’s so good that he knows he isn’t going to last much longer. Hannibal seems to be enjoying himself, too, making the most undignified little noises as a light gloss of sweat shines on his skin. The look of pleasure on his face gets Will close even faster than he expected. His hands tighten on Hannibal’s biceps and the tiny corner of his mind not consumed by passion registers that he’s leaving another set of bruises on Hannibal.

Hannibal gets the message and his thrusts turn slow enough for Will to back off the edge. They’re still deep and hard, though, and he gasps each time Hannibal fills him. Hannibal leans down to kiss him again. He retreats into the familiarity of Hannibal’s mouth until his control returns.

When Hannibal stops kissing him and pulls back, Will opens his eyes to see Hannibal’s scorched and scorching expression. “Let go, Will,” Hannibal says in a thick, desire-laden voice.

Will feels wild for a moment – trapped and scared – but that feeling fades as quickly as the need to cry did. He knows he needs the release of orgasm – his body begs for it – even if it means he has to give up all of his control. He can do that only with Hannibal. Hannibal, his stability. His tether to reality. The only sure thing he has.

Will lets out a shuddering breath and nods and lifts his head to kiss Hannibal. He pours all of his need into the kiss and Hannibal moves his hips again. It’s slow at first. Achingly slow. Will’s nerves are frayed. He needs to be taken quickly if he is to do as Hannibal says and let go. He grabs Hannibal’s ass and squeezes to urge him to quicken the tempo.

Hannibal does and Will nearly loses himself in the rush of pleasure. He has to bite his lip and focus on touching Hannibal – his chest, his nipples, his strong shoulders – and even then, he’s barely hanging on.

Then Hannibal, with dexterity Will doesn’t anticipate, wraps his hand around Will’s cock and orchestrates such pleasure that Will can’t stand it. He screws his face up, his hands tight on Hannibal’s shoulders, and gasps and moans as orgasm coils tightly and springs. Will cries out as he comes in hot, hard spurts on his stomach and Hannibal’s hand. He’s never felt such intense pleasure, such complete release.

Hannibal thrusts into him a few more times and gasps as his orgasm rips through him. The sensation of Hannibal’s cock jerking deep inside him is immensely satisfying as Will comes down from his own high. Hannibal stills and slides out and surprises Will again by fixing Will with a possessive expression. He leans down and gathers Will’s semen with his tongue.

Will stares, enraptured. It’s the most erotic thing he’s ever seen.

For a moment, he thinks he can get hard again and try for a second round as Hannibal cleans the last of the mess from Will’s stomach and chest. Hannibal kisses him and he tastes his own salty, earthy flavor on Hannibal’s tongue. It’s so good and he wants to go again, but he’s already sinking into much-needed sleep.

Hannibal seems to know that exhaustion has caught up with Will. He pulls away and gets up. Will closes his eyes, his body limp and ragged and entirely spent.

He blinks through heavily lidded eyes when Hannibal runs a warm cloth over his stomach. Hannibal urges him to move so he can pull the covers out from under Will. Will is grateful when Hannibal doesn’t try to cover him up. He’s slick with sweat. He needs a shower, but he doesn’t think he can move again.

Hannibal lies down next to him. Will draws on his last reserve of strength to roll on his side so he can face Hannibal and drape a hand across Hannibal’s chest. Hannibal turns to him and Will tucks his head against Hannibal’s chest, ignoring the fact that it’s too hot and not really comfortable.

This is how he wants to fall asleep, knowing that he’s Will Graham and he’s been fucked and loved and claimed by Hannibal Lecter.

He rests a hand on Hannibal’s hip and feels himself drifting off, more content than he’s ever been.

* * *

For the first time in weeks, fear doesn’t rush at Will when he wakes. Instead, he wakes slowly, warm and comfortable despite being sore, and he doesn’t doubt who he is and where he is and why.

Will doesn’t feel Hannibal next to him and he thinks Hannibal has gotten up until he opens his eyes to see Hannibal sitting against the headboard, reading, wearing only a pair of black boxers. It's more arousing a sight than it should be.

Hannibal smiles when he notices Will’s gaze. “Good morning,” he says as he closes the book. He runs a hand through Will’s hair and Will sighs like a petted dog, reaching up to rub his hand over Hannibal’s strong forearm. He pulls Hannibal’s hand to his mouth and kisses the palm. Hannibal strokes his cheek in response.

Will’s eyes drift up Hannibal’s arm toward the finger marks he left. Two sets. He touches near one print and says, “Sorry.”

Hannibal smiles again. “Never apologize for passion, Will. Would you like some breakfast?”

Will pushes himself up and winces at how sore he is. He forces a smile around the pain and places a hand on Hannibal’s chest. He feels good now – rested for once – but he wants to feel again what he felt last night.

“Can I have you for breakfast?”

Now Hannibal lifts Will’s hand from his chest and returns the kiss Will placed on his palm. “You can have me later,” he answers. “You and I need food first.”

He lets Hannibal shoo him into the shower while Hannibal starts breakfast. Will has too much time to think as the hot water washes sweat off of his skin. Uncertainty, doubt, fear – they’ve crept back in by the time he towels off. He can’t do this to Hannibal. He’s too dangerous to be around. And yet he knows that, if it’s possible for him to get better, Hannibal is the only one who can make that happen.

He’s more reserved than he means to be as he eats Hannibal’s delicious food with gusto. Hannibal has pulled back some, too, and that makes it easier for Will to turn back into himself. He stays to help Hannibal with the dishes and the domestic intimacy is nice, but it isn’t enough to tamp down his fears.

He kisses Hannibal trepidatiously before he leaves. Hannibal isn’t afraid and that’s enough to calm the fear that’s wrapped itself like a constrictor snake around his heart.

The sense of being sheltered doesn’t last. The storm of madness is back in full force by the time he’s in his car, and that’s how he knows he’ll keep coming back.

He’ll come back again and again – until it all ends. One way or another.


End file.
